To Ratigan, the World's Greatest Rat!
by Vamp829
Summary: 4 Months since his fall from Big Ben, Ratigan returns. Since the fall, Basil hasn't been himself or taken any cases. And a new mouse from America has joined Ratigan's gang, but what secrets does this mouse hold? What has he to do with Basil and Ratigan?
1. A Rat Returns and a New Mouse Arrives

Vamp: First, a Disclaimer. _**The Great Mouse Detective **_and all ideas based upon it are owned by Disney . _**Basil of Bakerstreet **_and all characters from it are owned by Eve Titus. I own only Max...or at least the idea. I'll fight that one out later.

And now, Author notes. I would like to thank the following people, if I may. Noelle M., who was kind enough to talk to me via private message and help me get this idea off the ground while I was having trouble deciding whether or not to even post this. Flower Miko, for her sugestions on how to outline my story before I wrote it. And Megana _(I got all my favorite GMD fanfic writers to help me? No way!)_, who actually beta read this piece o' crap. Thank you so much guys, and I know I've said that probably 80 times by now.

Little note, I know the Summary blows, but that's the best I could do in so little characters, and I'm not explaining it more. It's M for safety because I know where I'm going to lead this, as I'm adding Romance later on.

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**_"Oh, Ratigan, oh, Ratigan. The rest fall behind. To Ratigan, to Ratigan, the world's greatest criminal mind!"_**

Deep within the heart of London's Underground, where crime and murder hide away beneath the miraculously still functioning bar the Rat Trap where there was an entrance to the sewers where no one dared go, a shadowy figure walked. He slipped through the grate, following the song that played out with drunken voices that were loud and attracting. He hid back a chuckle as he slipped towards the barrel, the hide-out of London's most notorious villain. The Crook was believed dead by all, so how could anyone know that he had survived, if only barely, by landing onto a scaffolding below on Big Ben. How ingenious a man he was, that vile creature known as Ratigan, who had allowed all of London to believe he had died four months before on the night of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee while secretly hiding in his old home, as he committed low level crimes in secret, while he prepared his return to the bright lights of London's masses.

**_"Oh, Ratigan, oh, Ratigan. You're one of a kind. To Ratigan, to Ratigan, the world's greatest criminal mind!"_**

He walked slowly and carefully to the opening of the barrel hide out, standing to the side in the shadows, giving the inside a sideways glance. The place was emptier now, after the now Sir Basil of Bakerstreet had led a team of police mice from the Yard to confiscate everything and return them to their rightful homes. One had to wonder how Ratigan had felt; coming home to an empty place, all that was left was the empty fountain where alcohol had once flowed and a single throne where only Ratigan would ever sit.

The figure wished he had a chance to stare at all the gold. The very idea of what he could do making his eyes glitter. The idea of stealing gold the size of his head making his legs weaken for a moment until he gained his composure. How he loved shiny things, a weakness within itself.

His eyes traveled across the minions laughing and drinking and singing their praises, the fountain once more pouring what he assumed to be cheep wine and booze again, traveling to their 'King'.

Professor _'James Patrick'_ Ratigan.

The Man lounged with one leg lying over the arm of his chair, leaning back against the other as he smoked, smiling slightly, almost as if in a daze, as he watched the smoke float in the air, creating spirals before fading.

Smirking in the shadows, he stepped forward, leaning against the doorway, pulling his cap over his eyes. Why the men sang praises was almost beyond him. Perhaps it was fear over what their boss would do to them, had threatened to do to those who had left him, that made them sing so joyously. Or perhaps, he thought, from the look on Ratigan's face, the old rat had a plan. His smirk grew more.

**_"Oh, Ratigan, oh, Ratigan. You're tops, and that's that. To Ratigan, to Ratigan-"_**

For weeks he had tried to join in, never once actually meeting the Mastermind, oh no, for he was no fool to go up to a creature that had killed many a man for less. He would confront the henchmen. Send letters. Anything to get attention. He had continuously been turned down, much to his own disgust and distain and absolute irritation. But he wouldn't be turned down this time. How dare that creature turn him down, that, that-

"To Ratigan, the world's greatest rat."

Everyone froze when they heard this, Ratigan's yellow eyes widening as he slowly turned his head to stare at the Mouse that dared to call him a rat. You could see the rage building as his nails appeared to sharpen. He opened his mouth to speak, his every feature violently sharpened and deadly and showing to the world how mad the rat had a chance to be, when the mouse who had spoken stepped out from the doorway, taking his hat off as he bowed. His dark brown hair was a mess, as was the rest of his fur, curled and spiked like he hadn't brushed it that morning. The mouse was smaller than most, his body lithe and obviously nimble. Playful green eyes rose to meet the rat before him with a smirk. He could hear the sentence form in the Rat's mind before it was spoke. It rang unspoken in the air: _'What did you call me?'_

"Good evening. I am addressing the great Professor James Ratigan, the renowned '_Napoleon of Crime_', correct?" The obviously American mouse asked politely as he straightened; placing his hat back on his head, his hands going to his pockets as he walked forward passed the startled and horrified henchman on his way to the stunned Ratigan, whose features had lost their violence and had become stilled and calmed.

"I've come to join your gang. All the way from America, if you can believe. However, I _had_ heard you were dead, so I came to see so myself. I was….in disbelief, as it were. I am glad to see the rumors were wrong." He said as he stood before Ratigan.

Ratigan had quickly regained his composure, sitting correctly in his seat, his back as straight as a board. His eyes were cold and narrow at the mouse before him, smoking still, his free hand gripping the arm of his chair as if to contain himself from killing the man. How calm the rat had held himself. It was almost surreal. The Mouse had had always head that those who were fool-hearty enough to insult the Mastermind were quick to feel his wrath. Had that fall changed him? Or was there much more going on with Ratigan than he was letting on?

Finally, blowing smoke from his cigarette, the Professor spoke.

"Why should I allow you to join me? You insulted me," the mouse's eyebrow rose a bit at this. "Barged into my home," the mouse chuckled as he glanced around, to Ratigan's growing irritation. "And paraded around as if you owned the place," the mouse nodded with a smile. "Why should I allow you to join?" Ratigan hissed.

At this, the mouse merely smirked, leaning forward and, to Ratigan's surprise, brushed his hand across Ratigan's pocket, as if to remove some dirt.

"Why, because of three easy reasons." He said, putting his hands in his pockets. "1) I am, if I may say myself, quite witty." He batted his eyes, making Ratigan roll his own, crossing his legs to watch the mouse. The mouse smiled, showing pearly white teeth in his attempt to _'woo'_ Ratigan. Seeing he had only earned a dirty look made the mouse continue.

"2) I am fast as can be." he said, flexing his right hand. He held it up to look at it, wigging his eyes at Ratigan, who scoffed. This mouse had no chance to join. Not unless-

"And 3) Because I stole your watch and you didn't notice." He pulled his left hand out, holding the watch by its chain, his eyes at his free hand.

Not unless he did something impressive.

Whispers of surprise and admiration were spoken behind him as Ratigan's eyes widened. His hand moving to his now empty pocket as the mouse dangled the golden watch back and forth.

The mouse smirked as it was ripped from his hand. "Fine, Mouse. I suppose…on a trial basis…you may join. What's your name?"

The mouse smirked and stepped back to bow once more as he removed his hat to hold firmly in his hand. "Feel free to call me Max, Boss-Man." Max said, his green eyes meeting the rat's as he smirked.

The Rat's eyes widened before the smallest twitch, seen only by Max because he was so close, formed. "Max." he said slowly. The mouse nodded, straightening up as that same damnd-able smirk that many had tried to kill him for formed on his face. The Rat lowered his head, his free hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're…Max." he muttered. "That irritating Mouse who has been hounding my men and me to join for the past three weeks?"

Groans and hisses filled the room. Max had, in fact, been a bother to all he had passed….after the first time he had been turned down. He had even come close to beating someone up the last time the Rat had dared turn him down. Max grinned wildly. "The very same, Boss-Man." He cooed, pulling his hat down passed his eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I think I'll leave before you change your mind." He laughed. His laugh would have been in another place or at another time quite pleasant. However at that time it was just infuriating and running the risk of getting him killed.

He turned and walked out the entrance of the Hide Out and called over his shoulder. "I'll come back tomorrow, when there's been less drinking. See you tomorrow night, Boss-Man." He said as he slipped through the grate, heading back to the surface, the eyes of Ratigan on him as he slipped away.

Silently on this throne while no one dared speak after the intruder left, Ratigan put his head in his hand. Why was it he had the feeling he had just signed his own death warrant?

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Vamp: Once more I return with the author's notes. Okay, I know that it's a bit rough and I know one day I'll look back at this and pull my hair out for writing this, but...well, I try, that's something. And I realize Ratigan is a bit...OOC right now, but I'm still working out some kinks here, so don't give me too much of a hard time. Please read and review, and if you have any ideas or comments, or just want to help me in any other way(And get through those bouts of depression I get that make he want to smash my computer in with a 9 Iron), let me know.

If I like you enough (i.e. you volunteer to help or I 'inlist' (Like I could) you) I may even start adding you to my author's notes (run, run, FLEE, FLEE!)

So remember, read and review!

And don't tell Ratigan I'm writing this or me might fly out of one of Megana's Author's Notes and try to kill me. And Basil said he wasn't helping me.


	2. A Detective's Breakdown is Seen

First, a Disclaimer. _The Great Mouse Detective _and all ideas based upon it are owned by Disney. **_Basil of Bakerstreet _**and all characters from it are owned by Eve Titus. I own only Max...or at least the idea. I'll fight that one out later.

**Vamp:** I return! I know, it's amazing. Had to wonder if I was ever going to upload the next chapter. Sorry it's taken me so long. Due to...um...some small health issues, I had to take some time away from the computer. Don't worry anyone, I'm alright. It was just a small break.

Also, I'd like to say, thanks for the reviews, Noelle M. and Taxidriver28. I loved hearing from you guys.

And finally, this chapter was not beta-read, so if anyone finds any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know. I'm very OCD about that stuff. Now, let's go to the next chapter of **To Ratigan, the World's Greatest Rat!**

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Dawson sat at the kitchen table of 221 ½ B Baker Street, reading the morning paper as he drank his tea. Every now and then his eyes would flitter to the doorway before going back to his paper.

_I haven't seen him in a month and a half._ He thought to himself sadly. He continued to drink his tea, which seemed, like most things anymore, to be flavorless. _He hasn't taken a case in four months, hasn't come downstairs when anyone else is around in two months, and hasn't spoken or opened his door during the day in a month and a half._

Basil was destroying himself.

In the doctor's opinion, it had, at first, seemed like it had come out of nowhere. He had become more and more quiet as time went on, that was sure. And he seemed to always be tired. After a while, everything had broken away.

In retrospect, he could see now it had been their first case together that had destroyed the good detective. Since then nothing had gone right.

Dawson put his cup down, folded the newspaper, and laid it down as well. He stood and walked into the living room to stare at the fireplace.

Or, more appropriately, the sheet that covered the mantle.

It had been Mrs. Judson's doing. Not that he blamed her. Late at night they would find Basil sitting in his chair, his robe tied tightly around him, his knees to his chest as he sat there, staring at Ratigan's picture and the bell that sat next to it. And he wouldn't sleep.

He wouldn't sleep.

That was something that had worried him. After he had gotten out of the hospital, Dawson had worried that Basil might have been left with some psychological damage as well, having had a near-death experience and had watched his arch enemy fall to his death.

Of course, Basil had written this off quickly, but as time went on, Dawson was sure he was right.

He sighed and sat down in the chair across from Basil's and closed his eyes.

He was missing his friend, who was forever locked in his room. He didn't know how to get him back.

Every image was so vivid. Every seen replayed twice as sharply and bright as the first time. The flashes of lightning, the sounds of thunder as the light rain began. The sounds of the gears of the clock tower. The sounds of panting breath.

The sound of a heart wanting to give out with fear.

Every sound in that clock tower had echoed, from the yelps of pain from being smacked of the gear, to the sounds of shouts from the pain of a bitten hand, to a scream of terror brought on from a fall towards what could have been death.

And the sounds were worse outside of the tower, on the hands themselves.

The panting breath as what seemed to be a monster got closer and closer, mingled with the strain of trying to hand a little girl to her father without falling. And still falling, all the same.

And the pain, of slamming into the side of the clock tower as two figures rolled and tumbled down it, nails pointlessly dragging to try and slow them down, only to land on the minute hand of the world's biggest clock with a violent thud and being thrown a good ways away.

And the voice. It was chilling, more so than the view all the way down past the fog to the Thames.

"_**There's no Escape this time, Basil!"**_

"Please, god, don't do this!"

"_**You killed me, Basil" **_**SLASH **_**"You let me die on that clock tower!"**_

"NO! I didn't mean for you to fall, PLEASE!" **SLASH** "AHH!"

"_**You're the reason I'm dead!"**_

"NO!"

**SLASH **_**"So now it's time to bring you with me!"**_

"Please, Ratigan, I didn't mean for this. I'm sorry. I only wanted to put you in jail, not to kill you, please!"

The sound of a clock chiming brought Sir Basil of Baker Street out of his nightmare. He sat up straight, his eyes wide, panting as a cold sweat trailed down his fur.

He had fallen asleep again. Even though he had tried not to.

His scars burned terribly. He wrapped his arms around himself as he closed his eyes, leaning forward on his knees. The nightmares were worse and worse each night. Almost always the same.

Thought the dialog changed a bit. Mostly it was calling him inept and a poor excuse for a detective. Sometimes, he would have chuckled if it didn't hurt so much to breath, the nightmares would tell him he was five minutes late.

He curled up and covered his head with the pillow, his blanket pulled up over his shoulders. He stared for a moment at his almost permanently locked door. He wished he could will himself to open it…but he couldn't.

He couldn't let Dawson see him like this. It would kill the poor doctor.

The stilled body of Basil of Baker Street laid in his bed for a while, motionless, soundless. He almost looked to be asleep.

Softly, the sounds of crying littered the room.

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**Vamp: **Ahhh...I suck. Hope you enjoyed that worthless bit of writing. Unfortunetly, I will be continuing this. So read and review, leave your thoughts at the door, excetra excetra. The next chapter should hopefully be a bit of a time jump and will me more of a Ratigan POV, but that's only if things go as planned.

By the by, I know this chapter was a bit shorter than the last, but there's only so much I could come up with, sorry. Also, I hope that, with the next chapter on this, I might be able to start beta reading, as you have to have either 5 stories or 6000 words. I'm actually getting close to the 6000 words, so wish me luck.

Now please escuse me, because Basil is at the door and I think he has a gun. I'll be in my cellar for a few weeks. Bye!


	3. A Rat's Thoughts are Revealed

First, a Disclaimer. _The Great Mouse Detective _and all ideas based upon it are owned by Disney. **_Basil of Bakerstreet _**and all characters from it are owned by Eve Titus. I own only Max...or at least the idea. I'll fight that one out later.

Vamp: I return! I am sorry. Basil was being all...mean and crap and had me stuck in a basement for three months until Dawson and Ratigan came and got him to go away. Apparently he's not a fan of me making him cry.

Now, once again this chapter was not beta-read, so if anyone finds any mistakes, once again, please let me know. As we've assablished, I'm very OCD about that stuff.

And thanks to Noelle M., SuZkU07, and Tess for reviewing this chapter. These 5 reviews mean alot to me.

Now, let's go to the next chapter of ******To Ratigan, the World's Greatest Rat**

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_Journal Entry 4 Date October 20, 1897_

**_From the mind of Padric 'James Patrick' Ratigan_**

_It has been two weeks since that pesky mouse Max forcibly joined my gang. And I am not above admitting, at least to myself, that every time I see him I find myself wanting to rip his throat out, if only for being called a-_

_I can't even say it, it sickens me._

_So far, though, despite my beliefs and wishes, he has turned out to be a fairly….adequate thief. In the past two weeks he has stolen the following items and brought them to my possession:_

_- A diamond broach _

_- A set of silk shirts _

_- An embroidered handkerchief with my initials, which I found pleasing_

_- And a copy of Queen Mousetoria's Royal Seal_

_I admit to being particularly pleased with the seal. I have no idea how he could get his hands on it, as she only uses it to send letters to other royals or nobles. However he did so, I am extremely impressed._

_However, I have reason to believe that this Max has also been taking cuts from my earnings and hiding it for himself. I would normally ask, and by ask I mean order ruthlessly, Fidget to investigate, but the worthless bat seems to almost have made friends with him._

_There is more to this Max than meets the eye, I am sure of it. It's in the way he walks, as if his mind and body are separate, It's almost as if his mind is expecting to be working something larger, and his body isn't big enough for the results. He walks too fast and finds himself over-correcting, making it look like he's sauntering, or on a bad day, drunk._

_That's another thing. He never drinks. He says that he has never done so in his life, nor ever intends to. I find it peculiar. For he has no trouble conversing with my drunken men, and in fact seems to almost enjoy it…._

_If I was a paranoid man, I would think he is gathering information,_

_However, I am not a paranoid man._

_I am a __**smart **__one. I will send William and Fidget out to gather information on that American._

_American, hah! What a foolish little creature. He has no working knowledge of the place he has found himself in….and yet he seems to have no trouble whatsoever. _

_A strange creature._

_And speaking of annoying creatures, I find myself without my favorite, and I say so as bile rises in my throat, mouse Basil of Baker street. I almost flew into a rage when I heard he had been knighted. Knighted! The pipsqueak. However, my fall from Big Ben had taken it's toll, and I had still been confined to my bed. It's a wonder how much damage one can go through falling into a bucket of water on a scaffolding. I'm just lucky that the curtain didn't fall for me as well._

_But back to Basil. The Great Mouse Detective. The Sherlock Holmes of Mouse Dom, I've heard it all before. Why hasn't he come? Surely these thefts around the city must have perked those big ears of his into action. By now, he should have started searching for me._

…_Could…..could that trip on Big Ben have caused more damage than I realized? I amdit I had been in a crazed state, and even now as I draw back into my memory I am admittedly frightened that I had sucome to those basic instincts and attacked so wildly. Could I have….._

_No. He is still out there. I know it._

_I'll send William and- no, I have them after Max._

…_..Basil can wait a little while longer._

…_..yes. Just a little while._

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**Vamp:** And there we go! Shorter than my last two, but no less suckish! As promised, I give you a Ratigan POV. And I think it's pretty on the ball.

We've finally gotten into Ratigan's head, figured out how he survived the fall, AND established that he's susspision/hates Max and is worried _(Slightly)_ about Basil.

Now, I'm not sure who I'll be writing _(or what I'll be writing)_ about next, so suggestions are accepted and will be credited. I'm also looking for Beta-Readers. Brains required.

Stay tooned for the next instalment of **To Ratigan, the World's Greatest Rat!**

Also, side note, I may be starting a Batman fanfic, but I'm not quite sure yet. Thought I'd mention.


	4. An American Mouse Proves his Worth

First, a Disclaimer. _The Great Mouse Detective _and all ideas based upon it are owned by Disney. **_Basil of Bakerstreet _**and all characters from it are owned by Eve Titus. I own only Max...or at least the idea. I'll fight that one out later.

Vamp: 8 reviews! I have 8 reviews! HA! Thank you all for your support and reading this. It means a lot to me. Thank you also for the support of my other story **Headaches Don't Do You Justice, Jack Spicer. **

Sorry it took so long for me to post. I'm a lazy good for nothing. Feel free to yell at me if I start taking too long in between, I don't mind. In fact, it helps me get things done.

Okay, finally I've written a chapter in Max's POV, and I hope it turns out well. Enjoy this next chapter of ******To Ratigan, the World's Greatest Rat!**

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"Fidget, if your going to be coming with me, you have to keep up!" the mouse shouted over his shoulder as he ran down the street. He turned his head, skidding to a stop as he heard the sound of ragged panting, the clicking of a single peg leg hitting the ground as fast as it could, the owner falling to the ground in front of him.

Max frowned. He ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh, straightening his hat a bit. He had been sent by Ratigan to go try and raid a winery and bring back some drinks. For a celebration. Apparently some important part of his latest plan and come to fruition and he was quite…pleased about it.

Not that Max had any ideas on what it was. He was on a 'need-to-know' basis. I.e. no one was telling him shit.

Fidget and Bill had been sent to go with him. Not that he needed the help at all. He could figure out a way to bring two bottles of human-made wine back for a party. Bill had left shortly after they had all made their way out of the hide-out, making Max and Fidget swear on their lives they would never tell the Boss he was going to go meet his girlfriend. Max had shooed him away and headed off, with Fidget right on his heels….

Kinda.

Fidget couldn't run as fast as Max -not that most could- and with his limp wing, he couldn't fly after him, so he had a hard time keeping up. It was taking all his energy to just run for a few blocks.

Max knelt down to Fidget, who was lying on the ground panting, his tongue lolled out. He had taken a shine to the bat. He was fun when they were just alone to chat. And Fidget seemed to like him as well. They spent most of their time together talking. Apparently, Fidget thought he was brave and an idiot.

Probably because he did tricks that would have gotten most killed.

Like calling their Boss a Rat as often as he could. To his face and behind his back.

Of course he was tempting fate, but it was fun to know that just a little word could make the man scream in rage. It was an ego boost to know he could make anyone he wanted irritated. He made him…

Didn't matter. He needed to focus.

He flicked at Fidget's nose, making the bat open his eyes weakly. "Want me to carry you Buddy?" Max asked. Fidget nodded tiredly. Max carefully lifted him up, standing and allowing Fidget to grab hold of his shoulders and he reached back and held his up a bit. This had started a few days after he'd joined the gang. He moved quicker this way, felt like he was exercising with a light weight, and Fidget got to pretend he was flying again.

Not that Fidget had ever admitted that's what he was imagining. But Max could see it in his eyes.

Max darted down the street, Fidget holding tightly onto his hat and Max's shoulder as they darted towards the winery. "What kind of wine are we getting?" Max asked.

"Red an' White."

Max skidded to a stop again, blinking. He turned his head to look at the confused bat. "Yeah, okay, but what kind. Are we talkin' Port, Sherry, what?"

Fidget shrugged. "Da Boss said Red an' White. Didn' say Sh'rry." he said in his little slurred speech he always had. Max sighed deeply. Wonderful. So now he had to find to random bottles and hope they would make the temperamental man happy. Yes, that's what he needed today.

"Okay, so how are we gonna get them out of the winery?"

"Dunno."

"Great."

Max began running again, closing his eyes and leaning down a bit so he could feel like he was moving faster. Like lightening. He was like lightening.

He knew which streets to take without looking, and at this time of night there was no coaches to worry about. He turned sharply, heading down the next street.

"Why ya' takin' B'ker Street Max?" the small voice asked, making Max come to a halt. He looked around. Had he really been shoot down Baker Street? He stared up at a street sign. Yes, he had really taken Baker Street. He shook his head, feeling unnerved. It would take him to the place he needed to get, but he had to cut past…

He turned, walking slowly away, and took the next street over. It was longer, but it made him feel better. Fidget didn't speak, quietly watching his new friend. What had spooked him about that street so much?

"Damn it Fidget, I said drop it slowly!" Max shouted at him, holding his head as he laid on the ground. He had found some rope and had climbed up, with Fidget on his back, and tied the rope around two bottle necks. He had instructed Fidget to lower them both slowly. Which had worked…..

Kinda.

The White had come down smoothly, but the red had slammed into Max's head so hard he was pretty sure he had a concussion. He heard Fidget yelping and the weak sound of wings beating before something fell onto his side, making his grunt in unexpected pain.

"S'rry."

" 'S okay. Just give me a minute to make my head stop throbbing and we can go." Max laid there for a few minutes before sitting up, his eyes slightly unfocused. He was amazed that bottle hadn't killed him.

He stood, a but unsteadily, and looked at the drinks, a Chateau du Mont and a 1780 Port. He was proud of his finds. They were very nice. Now the only question was, how to get them out.

He stepped out into the night air taking a deep breath. He was amazed they had gotten the door open. He was grateful the wine shop owner was getting old and forgetful. Bless his heart, he hadn't locked the door, so they had only needed to push as hard as they could to get it open.

He looked around, trying to think. The mist had rolled in, alerting him of how late it was. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a gold watch. Rattigan's t be exact. He had gotten into the habit of taking it form him as often as he could. Ratigan was not happy about this. In the least. Lucky he would get it back to him before the death warrant was finished, but that hadn't put him in the man's good graces.

As he stared at the face of it, he heard the sound of paws beating on flagstones. He turned his head, shutting the watch with his index and middle fingers and stared, his eyes sharp. He gasped when he made out a shape.

"Toby?" he called, staring at the beagle who was sniffing the flagstones, as if in search for something.

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Vamp: Ha, Cliffhanger-y. How on Earth does Max know Toby? And what about Baker Street has him spooked?

And what is Toby doing out alone? What's he looking for?

And how the hell will Fidget and Max get all that wine back?

Questions I might actually get around to answering next time. Now, if you don't mind, Jack Spicer, Ratigan, Basil, and Dawson are waiting for me. Since i finally updated, we're all celebrating and playing some poker. See ya!


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